OneShot Scenes, Compilation
by CeeDen
Summary: B/E, AH/AU


I walked into his apartment. It was small, messy and typical of a man who lived on his own. It wasn't long before we were settled in front of the television, both holding onto a beer, ready to relax. He flipped through channels as I leaned back on the couch, watching him fuss until he found a suitable political humor talk show to watch. He sat close to me - our thighs overlapping. He pulled me against him for a quick hug and I smiled at him. Our eyes met, and we broke out into giggles. Our attention turned back to the show as we talked about the mundane: sports (new face for the state baseball team), the weather (always so hot), work (too much, not enough pay), and what we should watch next.  
Our attraction became more and more evident the longer we sat. He brought me another drink as soon as I finished my first and raised his eyebrows at me. I smiled back coyly, and waited for my next one. When he came back this time, he sat close to me but leaned forward. Without thinking, I instinctively put my hand on his back and rubbed it. The motions made him shiver and his sighs became deep and thoughtful, and he reached his hand to his face several times to regain control. He looked back at me while I kept my eyes forward to the television, taking a swig of my drink. My hand went from his back to the back of his neck, and I massaged it, occasionally running my fingers through his hair. He shuddered even more and even though I knew I shouldn't have, I smiled to myself and knew I had him in the palm of my hand.  
He turned and swallowed me in a hug - his arms around me felt perfect. Big strong arms, his chest soft, and I felt like I fit. For the first time in a long time, it felt comfortable, and right and safe. He let out a soft groan of frustration, we both knew we shouldn't be doing this.

But it was impulsive, reckless and we needed that.

We stood in his kitchen, and he opened my drink. He handed it to me, and I immediately took a swig. He looked me up and down and my eyes averted his, but I could feel them on me. He reached his hand out and slipped his finger into the front right pocket of my jeans, pulling me into him. I stepped forward with his pull and gently bumped into him. I rested my face against his shoulder and he held me close, taking a deep breath. He took me in, smelling my citrus-y perfume that had become my signature. He shivered and let out a barely audible groan. My body reacted to his shiver, his touch and my heart flew into my throat, making me nervous, excited. I said nothing, knowing this would never work, but wanting him more than ever. Our spark was rapidly becoming a flame.  
He pulled away and opened his beer, leading the way to the couch, where I joined him.

I was sitting in my apartment, alone with a movie, thinking of him. As if reading my mind, the phone rang. Caller ID confirmed it.  
It was Edward.  
"Hey," I said, and before he said a word, my chest felt full and my head spun.  
"I need to see you," he said, quietly, seriously.  
"Wherever you want."  
"Meet me at Starbucks, the one a mile from your place. I'll be waiting."  
"Leaving now."

Butterflies filled my stomach and I got up, threw on a pair of shoes and out the door I went. I turned the key of my purple Pontiac Sunfire and sped to Starbucks. He was sitting there, facing way from the parking lot. I pulled into a space and saw him right away... his large frame and backwards Red Sox hat were a dead giveaway. I took a deep breath and opened the door. I got out and walked over past him. I flashed him a smile and motioned that I was getting a drink. I got in line and ordered quickly, giving me extra time to calm myself. Just seeing him made my palms sweaty and heart race. He made me nervous, and I liked it. My wind wandered to his face, his body.. and I was awaken by the server calling my name. I picked up my cup and went back outside, to see him waiting for me, with a slightly impatient look on his face. I sat facing him and he reached out for a hug. The minute we touched everything came flooding back into my mind. His hands, his lips, his hair falling in his eyes when he leaned over me to press his lips against mine.

It had been a while since I had seen Edward. I had stopped counting the days. Three.. seven, eight-teen, twenty-three, a month, a month and a week... it seemed silly to think about the exact number of days. I walked into the room, and he saw me immediately. He tried to make eye contact with me and I looked in every direction but his. I clung to the arm of the man I was with, and stole looks at him when I could. We both were hurt, we both wanted to run to each other, but we resisted. I was more likely to admit this fact than he was.  
It didn't take long for our eyes to finally meet and for his thoughts to be so literally exposed in his facial expression. The woman he was with, deep in a conversation, didn't notice his wandering eyes, running over my hair, my eyes, my lips, my waist, my hips, my legs, and finally my feet.  
I smoothed out my crisp white button down shirt, letting my hands run down to the material of my charcoal pencil skirt. My red high heels caught his attention and his mouth turned up into a small, coy smile. His eyes locked with mine again, and all of the emotion I thought I was through with, all of the feelings I thought I had let go, came rushing back in a flood. My body ached for him, my thoughts went back to the last night we spent together, the night before the fight that ended it all. I had been in the wrong, there was no doubt about that. I could feel his hands on me, I felt his lips graze mine.  
I had to get away. I had to be alone with him.

I pulled up to the open parking space, my stomach in knots. I missed him and I shouldn't have. I hesitated before parking, my brain screaming NO this is NOT a good idea, contradicting my body and hearts strong desire to park and get out. I silenced my mind and parked. I made mt way to his door and rang the doorbell, accompanied by a knock. I waited and within seconds the door swung open and I had two very urgent, very simultaneous urges: to run away, and to run to him.  
"Bella, Why are you here?" he asked and leaned against the door frame.  
"You don't want to see me?" I replied and looked away.  
"Of course I do.. But I thought we both agreed it would be best if we didn't."  
"You decided that," I said, and he pulled me in.  
"This is a dangerous road," he said quietly into my ear.  
"I am aware."  
"Did you want to talk?"  
"Yes. I need to know what you think about all of this... "  
"I think we're playing a dangerous game... But I don't care."  
"Do you think we could ever work?"  
"Yes."  
He said it, so final. Like it was an obvious thing that I had missed. He said it so surely that I grew frustrated.  
"Tell me.. What do you want?"  
"You," his voice was so full of desire that my head went numb. Before I realized what happened, I was straddled over him, his hands under my shirt, his lips on mine.  
So wrong, so reckless, so impulsive, so selfish.

It had been three weeks since I had seen him. I stopped calling a while ago, knowing that he should have his chance to be happy, even though in my heart I knew he couldn't be happy with anyone but me. The concept of not having him in my life ate away at my stomach and left me in a continuous state of nausea. I hated chasing him to talk to me - it was so degrading, but I couldn't help it. I called every free moment I had just to hear his voice on his answering machine, rarely leaving messages. The odd time I did leave a message it was a friendly one - oh, just wanted to see how you were, or, that I was hoping everything was well and to call me as soon as you get a free moment.  
I never left the message I wanted to.  
I never said what I was really thinking.  
And that, of course, was that every idle moment I had he was on my mind. Even when I was focused, he would pop in and torment me. That I missed him. Painfully, but absolutely.  
Where was that cool, detached controlled woman now? She was an absolute wreck. In ruins. Over a man. I shook my head as I turned the corner, not really going anywhere, just going. Taking more than my plate full at work, the times I had alone didn't pass fast enough. The temptation to see him was overwhelming. Being at a red light at the cross streets to where he lived sent my heart flying.  
_**Let it go, let it go.  
I can't. I'm trying. I promise I am.  
But you're in me. **_  
I looked at my phone, sitting in the cup holder, and I reached for it. My heart pounded and I knew I shouldn't call him. I dialed his number, and before it even had a chance to ring, I hung up. I took a deep sigh and sat back, waiting for the light to turn green.  
_Just call me, just call me. Please._  
I could have left that on his answering machine. I could have left the truth.  
_Hey, it's me. Listen, I miss you. I know you're completely wrong for me, and this is so wrong, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't stop thinking about you. I need to see you. Please call me. I need to hear your voice. I know I said this was just a physical thing.... but I was wrong. It's more than that. We both know it. Just call. _  
But instead, I left nothing. No message, no real feelings, no nothing.  
I was the coward. Then a surge of courage hit and I thought, maybe, just maybe I can go over there and get him to talk to me, face to face. Maybe THEN he'll get it. And then he'll tell me he cares about me too, and that yes, he's been thinking about me non-stop since the last time we saw each other and yes, he misses me.  
Like I had so many times before, I shook my head to bring myself back to reality. If he wanted to see you, he would have called you, consequences be dammed.  
Maybe he's waiting for me to make the move. In addition to the phone calls? Yes, maybe he wants the grand gesture.  
Does he?  
Or does he just want this to fade away into oblivion?  
The questions plagued my mind, and before I realized it, I was on his street, coming up on his apartment.  
Now or never.

I opened my eyes, and turned over. His arm was slung over me, heavily. I looked at him, covered in white hotel sheets, his brown hair a mess and his eyes opened slowly. A smile spread across his face as he saw me watching him, and his green eyes sparkled.  
"Good Morning," I said quietly, smiling at him.  
"Good Morning, Bella," he said, and let out a yawn. He pulled me close and kissed my forehead. My head spun. I was waking up with him, in a hotel room, looking out over the water, the sun streaming through the window. I cuddled up against his bare chest, and he held me tightly. I looked up at him and our eyes connected. He kissed my lips softly and let out a small laugh.  
"I'm gonna get up," I said, and pulled away.  
"If you must," he said, and we laughed. I reached past him and picked up his blue button down shirt, the one he wore the night before. I slipped it on over my navy and white striped boyshort underwear, and it was just a little too loose. I headed towards the bathroom to wash up. My hair was a disaster, the perfect example of sex hair.  
I walked out to find him sitting at the table, in his boxer shorts, with the sports pages of the newspaper in his hand, a cup of tea in the other. The table, placed in front of the window, allowed the sun to steam in and warm his face. Facing him sat another steaming cup of tea, waiting for me, with the entertainment section of the newspaper. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his shoulder. He kissed my cheek and I sat facing him.  
"You look good in my shirt," he said, raising an eyebrow.  
"Smells like you," I said.  
"Last night..."  
"I know," I said, and he smiled at me. It wasn't a big smile, but a warm one. One that meant something.  
His hand found mine from across the table and he held it.  
"Mine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. I nodded and he turned back to the sports pages.


End file.
